


What a Rush

by StrandsofNehn



Series: For the Sake of Us [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Elves, F/M, Promotions, commander of the guard, its all good fun until someone almost dies, tolkien type shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrandsofNehn/pseuds/StrandsofNehn
Summary: Two friends take on a celebratory competition. Everyone has their version of smelling the roses, right?





	What a Rush

**Author's Note:**

> These two original characters are set in a original fantasy setting. There's really nothing you need to know to read this other than both characters are in a House (not a physical house but a group of people like a village essentially and no, they are not related) House Gaveris. Houses are all that remains of the once-country Kennara that was cursed and unable to support its civilization, turning out all its occupants. Occupants fled with their Houses, or joined others. Each House has their own everything, milita, governing members etc. Like little city-states.

It’s spring, the flowers in bloom and filling the air with perfume and petals and Lorel loves it. Haylen, though, has allergies every year at this time and she spends the morning mercilessly teasing him about it. His face gets more and more flushed, and she can't tell if it's because of the near-constant sneezing or if he's blushing. Pity-- she considers making Haylen blush a high-mark accomplishment.

Lorel's pondering this when they're climbing in the branches, high from the forest floor, looking for a better vantage point to survey the new landscape. At least, that's their excuse. Lorel pulls herself up the trunk, scaling from branch to higher-reaching branch because she is after the thrill. They make it out of the canopy, Haylen right behind her grinning like she is and take in the view.

It looks much the same as always, green, lush and-

“ _Ah-coo!”_

Full of pollen. 

Lorel snickers, and Haylen sends her one more exasperated glance, “ _Lorel.”_

She laughs, “Okay, okay. Sorry.” She bites her lip, still laughing.

He fixes her with a look. “You're terrible.”

She snorts but successfully swallows her laughter. “I know.”

Haylen chuckles and shakes his head, looking back out at the valley. They stand as sentinels over the trees, wrapped in intricate armor, now adorned with the symbols of their respective commands. The Commanders of one of Kennara’s largest remaining Houses. Lorel lets the thought flow through her.

She made it.

 _She_ _made it._  

She closes her eyes, and pictures the feeling as a cloak of honor cascading down her shoulders. Purple and white, flowing and breathtaking. And Haylen, he has one, too. The twin of her own spun in gold and red. Valiant. Audacious. Unwavering.

She'd been questioned. Stalled. Asked too many times if she was sure of her course, if she thought she could do it. If she would.

Ridiculous question. As if she would start something without intent to finish.

She's had her failures, of course, but she does not let them hold her back. She acknowledges them, assesses them and does better. Becomes better. She knows her limitations, she knows her cap, she doesn't push past them often. She often doesn't need to. But advancing to Scout Commander demanded everything of her. Demanded better than excellent.

And she had given it. And she had won it. Earned it. _She had done it._

“You're glowing, Lor.”

Lorel grins at Haylen; he looks proud standing there. “I know,” she says and Haylen smirks.

“You done, then?”

Lorel laughs and rolls her shoulders, “Oh, yes.”

Haylen hoots in triumph and jumps onto a lower branch, scaring birds out of the trees and into the skies. Lorel rolls her eyes and tears after him. 

This is the fun part.

Haylen runs through their world of branches, leaves, dew and bark as swift as a comet, his body a blur of browns and gold shooting from one branch to another. Lorel leaps from her perch after him, flying through open air. She floats for a moment that lasts a blissful eternity before her gloves grip an overhead branch and she uses her momentum to flip over the branch and dive downward again, glee coursing through her.

It started as a contest. So many years back Lorel doesn't care to count them, Haylen challenged her: said he could make it down to the forest floor faster than she could as an offhanded comment. It had escalated from there, developed from a matter of honor into a game, into unabashed fun. Haylen always makes things fun.

Lorel lets out a holler of exhilaration and Haylen responds in a like cry, laughter coloring the sound. She dodges an incoming branch and swings her body onto another, laughing as she jumps into another tree all together. Haylen is far below her but today it doesn't matter; it hasn't mattered for a while.

“Lorel!” he calls, “Watch the master at work!”

Lorel lands and rolls over her shoulder into a free fall before the next branch. “How can I when she's over here?” she calls back. 

“Oy! That's not wh-”

Haylen screams. He screams the same time the cacophony of snapping wood splinters the air. Lorel staggers, her knees slam into the bark as she watches Haylen plummet. Away from the branches. Away from safety. Away from _her._

She screams his name, and the image of two steadfast sentinels standing vigil over trees and elves and laughter shatters in her minds-eye. She sees him trying to maneuver but for one, miserable moment all she can see is one of the Gods’ golden tears on its way to curse the earth. But then he flips, thrusts a grappling hook upwards and suddenly he's hanging in the middle of nothing. Lorel’s breath is heavy and her fingernails are tearing at the bark.

“ _Haylen!”_

Her voice is coarse and it echoes in the stillness. Haylen hangs for a moment longer then uses the rope to swing himself over to the branches. His body shudders as he plops onto his backside, face tilted to the sun. His lips move faintly. 

But Lorel doesn't much care, Lorel is _moving_. She glides from branch to branch, more careful than usual of how she picks them, down to Haylen. She reaches him after what feels like too long a time. 

“Haylen,” she cries, “Haylen. Gods, are you all right?”

She rushes to touch him, peppering him with inquisitive brushes. Her hands on his chest to reassure herself it's still rising and falling, his neck to make sure it's not broken, his face to check that it's not flattened and damaged beyond repair.

Haylen breathes just as harshly as she does, his eyes closed and the rope clenched in hand.

Once she's sure he's not damaged, Lorel takes a half step back to give him some air. “Haylen?”

He nods, and exhales deeply. “I'm good,” he manages, “I'm fine, Lor.”

“You nearly-” Lorel cuts herself off. She doesn't need to say it, Haylen’s having enough problems.

“I know,” he says, but her friend’s lips curl at the ends. “But I didn't.”

Lorel sloughs a laugh and dips her head. “No, you did not.”

He starts laughing-- so hard and so suddenly that Lorel has to blink a few times to register just what is happening. Haylen cackles and brings his hands up to his face, delves them into his gold hair and roars with laughter, relief and adrenaline clear on his flushed face.

Lorel shoves him into the trunk and snarls, “You absolute _idiot._ What do you think you were doing? You nearly-!” She growls at him. “You complete fool!" 

Tears form in Haylen’s hazel eyes that make them glisten, his hand moves to his stomach and he laughs. “I know, I know,” he tells her, riddled with laughter, “I'm sorry, Lor-- I'm sorry.”

Lorel squeezes her eyes shut. Gods preserve her.

Haylen coughs and the laughter dwindles into one statement, “By the First,” he breathes. “What a rush.”

Lorel snaps her eyes open. “ _No.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! What parts you liked! Which ones got away from me and didn't make sense, etc. Writers live for praise/constructive criticism aka words from humans, you know? We wither like houseplants without it.


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